


Reminder

by TheDistantDusk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 16:12:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19771810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDistantDusk/pseuds/TheDistantDusk
Summary: They've been back together a solid month… a month filled with sunlit days and clenched fists and calling each other’s names in graveled, panting moans. But as close as they’ve gotten, there is one thing they haven’t done — or more aptly, something Harry hasn’t let her do.





	Reminder

**Author's Note:**

> From a Tumblr ask about Ginny going down on Harry. 
> 
> Thanks to Flo, Eslon, and Hedwig for the encouragement... and for making this less garbage! <3

When he’d broken things off a year ago, Harry’s eyes had carried a lingering promise that his mouth couldn’t vocalize. _I’ll be back_ , he’d told her with a glance, even as he’d walked away at Dumbledore’s funeral. _I’ve got to do this, Ginny… but I’ll be back.  
  
_She’d _known_ he would be, of course; he’d just been afraid of making a vow he couldn’t keep. Harry Potter is nothing if not noble and honorable, and she thinks he’d rather die than lie to her. Or hurt her. Or cause her any modicum of discomfort.   
  
Which, perhaps, is the real problem.   
  
Because they’ve been back together a solid _month_ … a solid, spectacular month, filled with sunlit days and clenched fists and calling each other’s names in graveled, panting moans. But as close as they’ve gotten, as much as they’ve shared, there _is_ one thing they haven’t done — or more aptly, something Harry hasn’t _let_ her do.   
  
Her boyfriend’s reluctance is made even more confusing when she considers how readily he’d reignited their physical relationship. _He’d_ sought her out on third May, a newfound look of determination searing in his eyes. For some reason, this _look_ had done certain things to Ginny that she hadn’t quite expected, and as such she hadn’t been able to resist pushing him against the nearest wall and kissing him until they were both thrumming with heat.   
  
Harry hadn’t hesitated to make his intentions abundantly clear. He’d torn himself away a few minutes later, trailed a finger down the side of her face, and asked (half-hopefully, half-apologetically) if she was _seeing_ anyone. Ginny had curtly informed him that _yes_ , she was… and just as Harry’s face had started to fall, she’d rushed to clarify that she’d never really stopped seeing _someone_ in the first place — although she firmly considered _Un_ desirable Number One to be said person’s least-fitting title to date.   
  
With a relieved laugh, Harry’d slumped against her, pressing her body to his, and for several moments they’d been content to simply _touch_. He’d drawn deep breaths at the crown of her head, his voice graveled and thick as he’d admitted he’d thought of her _every single day_. She’d looked up from his chest to ask a half-formed question about how much _thinking_ he’d been able to do, what with her brother right beside him, but Harry had interrupted her with a kiss — and this time, he’d moved swiftly. _Confidently_. He’d cupped her jaw, his tongue parting her lips, and when he’d pulled back to stare at her and slide his knee between her thighs, he hadn’t been asking a question so much as informing her of his intentions.   
  
She’d welcomed him with a gasp, tightening her thighs and slowly sliding against the building pressure. Ginny couldn’t believe he’d remembered exactly what to do. It was like the memory had been seared into his brain, like there was nothing else he’d thought of for an entire year besides giving her the same pleasure he’d once bestowed during a particularly happy hour. A delirious smile had crossed Harry’s face, his whole body consumed with kissing her and caressing her and _helping_ her… and for the first time in a long time, she’d let him.   
  
When they’d returned to the Burrow a few weeks later, this bolder, more confident Harry had continued to emerge, bit by bit. He’d been the one to march up to her parents one warm summer night, his hand on the small of Ginny’s back, to ask if they could _go on a walk_ in the garden. Ginny had known her parents wouldn’t mind, but based on her mother’s beaming grin (the first she’d worn in _ages_ ), Molly had nonetheless appreciated the formality of the request.   
  
With that, Harry had taken Ginny’s hand, led her into the night, and snogged her senseless against the first vertical surface he’d found… which had just so happened to be her father’s shed. Over the next hour, they’d shifted until they were horizontal instead, and when Harry’d finally pulled back, his eyes dark and hooded, his erection digging into her thigh, she’d known what he was after before he even opened his mouth. In a voice somewhere between a plea and a prayer, Harry asked if she’d _show him what to do_. So Ginny had drawn a deep breath, taken his shaking hand in hers, and dipped it below the elastic on her knickers... and that’s when she’d learned that Harry Potter is a remarkably quick learner, given the proper motivation.   
  
The next day he’d done it again — but _this_ time with his mouth — and while she hadn’t been surprised to experience the most overpowering orgasm of her life, she’d been rather shocked (and impressed… _and_ turned on) that Harry had followed her right over the edge. Just as she’d cried out with her release, Harry’d let out a strangled moan from his position between her thighs, his hips thrusting into the ground as he did. Although Ginny had only heard him make that sound once before (during the aforementioned _particularly_ happy hour), it was unmistakable: Harry’d had an orgasm. Without her even touching him.  
  
He’d been mortified for about two minutes, his face bright red even in the growing darkness, but Ginny had tugged on his hands, kissed him, and told him the truth: _The fact that she’d made him do that was adorable. And hot.  
  
_With no small amount of pride, Ginny had assumed things would logically progress from there; for a brief moment in time, it had seemed she was right. The very next evening, Harry hadn’t hesitated to let her _properly_ touch him — and although she hadn’t a clue what she was doing, she reckons it was sufficient: About sixty seconds in, he’d started babbling and panting and telling her that she was _beautiful_ and _perfect_ before he’d made that telltale grunt and exploded all over her clenched fist.   
  
Then in quick order, he’d taken out his wand, cleaned the mess, and proceeded to go down on her. Because that’s just the sort of bloke Harry is.   
  
Over the course of the next several weeks, Ginny’d felt it only natural to start making attempts to let her mouth drift lower and lower. Harry’d had no problems letting her nibble on his neck or shimmy down his front; he’d even gone so far as to let her kiss the trail of black hair that she’d fantasized about so often. Nonetheless, every single time she’d been _about_ to shift from her hands to her mouth, he’d been two steps ahead. He’d employed every possible distraction from flipping her over (and going down on her) to snogging her senseless (and then going down on her). And just last night, he’d even gone so far as to pull away with a strangled moan and suggest going inside, instead.   
  
Thus, for the first time in her life, Ginny finds that Harry Potter’s actions have left her utterly _lost_. She’s not exactly offended, mind; it’s more like she’s torn between confusion and a near-constant state of arousal — and this bothers her more than she’d like to admit. She’s never once struggled to understand Harry’s motivations, never once searched to rationalize his behavior… and while she doesn’t exactly understand where he’s coming from, she’s determined to find out.   
  
Because now, they’re snogging in her bedroom — and Ginny will be _damned_ if she doesn’t make some headway. They’ve a rare hour alone indoors, and though they’ve only snogged in a bed a handful of times, Ginny already knows she prefers it over avoiding wet patches on the grass. If the tent in Harry’s trousers is any indication, she reckons he’s on the same page. Snogging on a bed is much different from grass; the softness of this surface means he isn’t able to shift and move to conceal his arousal. He’s been a lot less shy about all this since the war ended — but he still eases her away from _that part_ of him if they’re having a serious conversation.   
  
Now they aren’t talking, though. And Ginny likes this better. Harry’s lying lengthwise beside her and cradling her against his stomach, and although he isn’t even doing much, he’s still reduced her to a puddle. He’s sucking the pulse point on her neck, his tongue flicking the sensitive spot he’d discovered last year… and fuck, she can’t believe they did this _just yesterday_ , because she’s already so turned on that her skirt and knickers are clinging to the humidity between her thighs.   
  
She whimpers as his hand creeps higher and higher up her stomach, caressing every bit of her skin along the way. Harry releases a ragged breath, the length of his body pressing even harder to the side of hers. His fingers give the slightest push beneath her bra as his right hand cups her bare breast; and a tender sigh falls from both of their lips as he finally, _finally_ makes contact.   
  
“I _love_ touching you,” he murmurs, rubbing his stubbled chin on her neck. 

“Likewise,” she breathes, arching her back to give him better access. Harry moans in her ear as she shifts her hips against his erection — and that’s absolutely the only warning she feels he needs. Ginny shifts to face him, her lips curled in a sultry smirk.   
  
“Why don’t you lie on your back, Harry?” she purrs, nipping at his jaw, not minding that his hand is still caressing her breast.   
  
Harry pauses for a solid ten seconds, his chest heaving, his eyes wide and glassy. Yet again, Ginny makes an executive decision: She pushes on his chest. And hopes he gets the picture.   
  
Harry scrambles to comply, lying flat against her mattress with surprising speed given his hesitancy just moments before — but she can’t help but note the vein ticking in his neck. He looks _restrained_ … like he’s trying (and failing) to maintain control.   
  
Ginny’s not sure what to do with that, either. But she’s determined to find out.   
  
She runs a finger down his cheek, giving him a soft smile… and then she arches an eyebrow, hoists a knee over his hip, and lowers herself down until her damp knickers straddle his tented jeans. They both let out a _hiss_ , and soon, Harry’s hands come up to caress the swell of her arse, to push past the skirt that’s already ridden too high to be of any use. Under normal circumstances, Ginny would probably _let_ him do what he thinks he’s going to do: Push them both over the edge, clothes and all.   
  
But Ginny’s on a _mission_ , dammit… and she’s not wasting this shining opportunity. So she leans over to kiss him, loving how his palms wrap around her hips as she does, but if he thinks she’s stopping there, he’s got another thing coming.   
  
Ginny slides herself down Harry’s front, shimmying until her chest is pressed to his thighs, and she’s pleased that he hasn’t stopped her — not yet. He doesn’t do a thing, actually, to indicate his disapproval with her lips skating over the skin of his stomach, with her fingers toying with the trail of black hair leading to the place she’s never tasted, but _touched_.   
  
It’s not until Ginny begins unbuttoning his trousers, slipping her fingers inside while positioning her head right at the zip, that he finally finds it in himself to object: Just as she cups him through the fabric, Harry freezes, his hands holding hers in place.  
  
“Are you sure we should be… doing this?” he chokes, though his voice sounds poorly constrained. “Someone might come _home_ , and—”  
  
But _that_ bloody does it. Ginny finally snaps.   
  
She leans on her elbow, narrowing her eyes. She’s done playing games, tired of chasing him, tired of edging around what she wants… especially because she _thinks_ he wants it, too. (She’s not even talking about sex, mind — although she’s ready. She’s actually _been_ ready, for quite some time, but she reckons if Harry doesn’t even want _this_ , the chances of him wanting more are even slimmer. And that makes her feel less secure than she’d like to admit.)  
  
“ _Harry_ ,” she says coolly, fixing him with a dead stare. He just blinks at her, guilt written on his face, but she presses on, undeterred. _“Why won’t you let me go down on you?”  
  
_There’s a pause, and she _feels_ rather than _hears_ Harry shudder.  
  
His eyes flit to the far wall, his Adam’s Apple bobbing. “I… um.” Harry swallows, and she knows that expression well enough: He’s torn between telling her the truth and not wanting to scare her off. He’d made the same face when he’d admitted he was in love with her, when he’d held her hand and told her everything about last year, when he’d cried ( _actually cried!_ ) and pressed her against him, whispering about how much he’d missed her and how close he’d come to never seeing her again.  
  
So as annoyed as Ginny is, she can’t help but take pity on him. He’ll come round, she knows; she just needs to give him time. So she heaves a soft sigh. And she _waits_.   
  
“I… didn’t realize it was that obvious,” Harry mutters — and despite Ginny’s pledge just moments before, she can’t help but snort and fix him with a pointed look. _Seriously?  
  
_Harry sighs in response, pinching the bridge of his nose, but now that Ginny’s brought it up, she’s not going to stop.   
  
“We both know I don’t know what I’m doing,” she allows, peering at him, “but I’m not going to lie, Harry, I’m starting to feel _a bit_ like you don’t want me. Or at the very least, like you don’t think I’m… that I’m _capable_ of…” She finishes with a huff, turning her eyes skyward, but nonetheless feels she’s gotten her point across.   
  
There’s a beat — and even before Harry says anything, she somehow _knows_ she’s wrong. _Dead wrong._ She chances a peek at him a second later — and the look on his face confirms her prediction.   
  
Harry’s giving her a wide-eyed stare, confusion etched on his face. “Are you _serious_?”   
  
Apparently, her proclamation has taken him so off-guard that he’s forgotten to be quiet; now he sounds so rumbling and deep that she’s reminded of the way he’d commanded the team during quidditch practices. She bites her lip, shifting in place; this does absolutely nothing to cool her… _ardor_.   
  
He hardly seems to notice.   
  
“ _Ginny_ ,” he deadpans. “You cannot _possibly_ believe that I don’t want you.”   
  
She arches an eyebrow — a challenge. And with that, Harry plows on.   
  
“For _fuck’s_ sake.” He shakes his head, incredulous. “You fucking _blink_ at me and I’m hard. Even after the most innocent snog I can barely walk — and, and sometimes, it doesn’t even take that! _Sometimes_ , it’s just a kiss! _Sometimes_ , it’s just looking at your lips!”   
  
_Oh_. Ginny shudders, rubbing her thighs together, but Harry remains resolute.   
  
“You’ve watched me paint the inside of my trousers — _more_ than once!” He throws his hands in the air as if seeking guidance from the heavens. “And when you _finally_ touched me, I was done almost as soon as you started!”   
  
He groans, flopping back on his pillow again. “Fuck, Ginny… I’m _ridiculously_ attracted to you. _Embarrassingly_ attracted to you.” He heaves a deep sigh… and Ginny senses that she’s finally, finally going to get some answers. “And that right there,” Harry adds, his voice tinged with resignation, “is the problem. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve… thought of you. Down there. _Doing that._ ”   
  
_Fuck_. Ginny nearly releases an audible whimper, rubbing her thighs together again; the thought of Harry running his hand up and down that _thick_ cock as her name falls from his lips…   
  
“I’m sorry,” he mutters a second later, his face bright red. “I’m _sorry_ I haven’t made anything clear. Or clear enough.” He huffs again, still refusing to meet her gaze. “And _I’m sorry for yelling_ ,” he adds. For good measure.   
  
Ginny bites her lip, stopping a giggle just in time — but she can’t deny that last bit is particularly hilarious. Only Harry would apologize _for yelling.  
  
_Then he meets her with a dead stare again, his bright green eyes piercing with honesty. He draws a deep breath and trails his finger down the side of her face. “But did it never occur to you that I’m _afraid_ of how much I want you?”  
  
_Oh_. Ginny looks away. “No,” she admits, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I assumed you… I don’t know. It sounds stupid now.” She flaps an impatient hand. “I guess I thought you were doing your _noble_ thing or that you thought I’d _bite_ you, or—”   
  
This time, it’s Harry’s turn to snort. “Trust me. I’m much more afraid of what _I_ might do than what _you_ might do.”  
  
There’s a pause.   
  
“What do you mean?”   
  
Harry heaves another sigh, running his hand down his face. “Fuck. All right.” He clears his throat. “This is embarrassing. Erm… I’m concerned that I’ll like it. _Too much_. And end up hurting you.”   
  
Ginny opens her mouth to demand clarification, but Harry raises a hand to forestall an interruption.   
  
“Just let me explain. Yeah?”Harry swallows and begins toying with a spare thread on the duvet. “Things with us are great now… _amazing_ , even. Better than I’d imagined.” A ghost of a smile graces his lips. “But I can’t help but think I’ll eventually muck it up. Or… or somehow disrespect you. Or make you uncomfortable.” He sighs, shaking his head. “And honestly, I’d do just about anything to avoid doing that. _Ever_. Because your family is _my_ family and your life is _my_ life and fuck, I just…. I _care_ about you so much, and—”   
  
“—Harry,” Ginny interrupts. He’s spiraling; she _knows_ when he’s spiraling. Harry peers down at her, his brow knit.   
  
She gives him a reassuring smile. “Part of this—” she gestures between them — “is _compromise_. That’s what relationships _are_.” She shakes her head, more dismayed and incredulous than ever. “For fuck’s sake. Did you _seriously_ think we’d go the rest of our lives without—?”  
  
But it’s clear from the look on Harry’s face that he hasn’t heard the first bit. “The rest of our lives?” he echoes faintly, his eyes never wavering from hers.  
  
Ginny shifts. They haven’t _actually_ talked about this, have they? It’s one of those unspoken things that hangs between them, one of the many things she’s just inferred from the way he strokes the side of her face and stares at her after she comes.  
  
“Well, I’d thought so,” she says slowly. “If it’s all right with you.”   
  
She knows the answer before Harry responds. _Of course_ it’s all right with him. The certainty with which he’d resumed their relationship had told her as much, even before he’d insisted on holding her hand whenever they went. Even _before_ he’d told her he loved her. Even _before_ he’d spent countless hours making her happy.   
  
“Yeah?” he confirms, his voice unsteady.  
  
She nods, cheeks flushing, and with that, Harry’s face splits into the broadest grin she’s ever seen. For a few moments they’re content to just stare at each other, green eyes meeting brown. Ginny’s struck with that same feeling she gets sometimes when she stares at him, like something heavy is hovering in the air between them. It’s like whatever they’re sharing — whatever they’re _doing_ — transcends where they are…   
  
And all at once, it’s both too much and not enough. She rips her head away, clearing her throat, and gestures to the bulge tenting the front of Harry’s trousers. “So,” she begins, arching an eyebrow. “Now we’ve settled that. Would you mind very much, Harry Potter, if I sucked you off?”   
  
He shudders, his eyes slamming shut again… but a moment later, he gives her a nearly imperceptible nod. And Ginny knows she’s won.   
  
“I just… I didn’t want to assume _you’d_ —” Harry squeaks, his voice cracking; his eyes dart back to the far wall, the blush returning to his cheeks.   
  
There’s another beat of silence; Harry hasn’t said it, but she knows what he means. He’s asking if _she’ll_ … when he’s done. As if they’re been any doubt. And now Ginny’s cheeks are flushing too, because fuck, is that something you’re meant to admit to your boyfriend? That you’ve already… visualized how this might end?  
  
No matter; Ginny’s on a mission. She’s not one to let a bit of awkwardness ruin things.   
  
So she clears her throat, adjusts herself even closer to- to _that part_ of him, and hopes her Gryffindor courage won’t fail her now. “ _I’d always planned on doing that_ ,” she whispers, the words escaping her mouth so quickly it seems they’ve been chased. “Does that help?”   
  
Harry’s fist clenches at his side as a low groan escapes from his mouth. And Ginny has her answer. With that, her shaking fingers return to the bulge in Harry’s trousers, but this time, she’s moving with a greater sense of purpose. Harry moans and whimpers the whole time, his hand caressing her hair, and when she slowly unbuttons his jeans, easing them down over his hips. His cock springs free from the flap in his boxers, and Harry sighs in relief.  
  
“Finally.”  
  
Ginny giggles, rolling her eyes. “You know you can tell me. If that’s… _uncomfortable_.”   
  
Harry snorts and props himself up on his elbows. “Well, seeing as how I couldn’t even tell you why I— _fuckkkkk_.”   
  
He cuts off with a groan as she darts down, taking him into her mouth. She’s tired of hearing him being all _noble_ and self-sacrificing, filled to the brim with guilt for things he’s never caused. And though Ginny has absolutely no idea what she’s doing, she can’t help but be heartened that Harry’s apologies and complaints have stopped. Then again, she reckons, flicking her eyes up to meet his, Harry’s stopped doing _anything_ except moaning and whimpering.  
  
_Fuck_ , he looks absolutely beautiful, doesn’t he? She rakes her eyes up his body as she keeps working him with her mouth, her tongue swirling on the head of his cock as she hollows her cheeks. A vein pulses in his neck, his back arched, his whole body attuned to her ministrations. Ginny rubs her thighs together as she continues to raise and lower herself down; she’d never thought this would turn her on this much… but _fuck_ , it’s a heady feeling, knowing she has him under her control, knowing she’s got him teetering on the desperate brink.  
  
At some point, he reaches his hand down to touch her hair... very _respectfully_ , mind. His fingers just graze through the red tendrils near her ear, hardly touching her at all, but it seems even the briefest contact is enough. Harry starts babbling a moment later — and Ginny knows he’s close.   
  
“Fuck… _fuck_ , Ginny, I’m… I’m going—“ he pants, unable to look at her. “I’m so close, you don’t have to—“  
  
But Ginny’s never been one for quitting. She arches an eyebrow, swirls her tongue even harder, and just as Harry finally looks down at her, his eyes hooded, she feels him get _unbelievably_ hard for a split second, right before he releases a ragged groan — one both louder and deeper than any he’s made before. With that, his whole body stiffens, he lets out a muffled swear… and then he’s _coming, coming, coming_ , his cock twitching and pulsing in the back of her throat as her name rips from his lips as one roared syllable of pleasure.   
  
Ginny blinks and swallows every bit of it, her eyes never leaving his; she doesn’t pull back until he hisses and softens in her mouth, until the stimulation becomes too much. Then she leans back on her heels and pulls his boxers and trousers back up, taking care to ensure he’s comfortable. She's always found the covering to be nearly as intimate as the act itself; she loves it when he pulls her knickers back up, pressing gentle kisses to her thighs as he goes.   
  
At last, Ginny settles herself beside him, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. She rests her head on his chest as he draws deep breaths. He's nearly asleep, completely, _utterly_ spent. And _she’s_ done it.   
  
A moment later, Harry wraps his arm around her, nuzzling her even tighter against him. Moments like these are the ones she doubts the most. When she feels Harry against her, happy and content, she can't help but question how this has happened. How he’s _hers_.   
  
“Have I mentioned lately that I love you?” Harry murmurs, his eyes still shut.   
  
Ginny grins, propping her chin on his chest to peer at him. “Probably,” she says, shrugging. “But now I know the secret to getting more frequent reminders.”  
  
Harry chuckles, his beautiful eyes fluttering open. “Well, if it’s all right with you…” he murmurs, tracing a finger down the side of her face. Then he swallows as something serious and tender steals over his features. “ _If it’s all right with you_... I'd like to spend the rest of my life reminding you.”  
  
She gives him a besotted smile, draping her arms around his neck. _Yeah_ , she thinks as he leans in for a kiss that travels down her neck, leaving no question as to his mouth’s eventual destination…  
  
That's quite all right. 


End file.
